Flames to a New Seattle

This was told to me by my grandmother, who had it told to her by her aunt. I have added some words, but the ideas are the same.

 

"Oh, let me remember now. It was so many years ago. . . . Ah, yes. Nobody called me Florence then. They all called me Lily, my middle name. I thought I had such a grand name, except for that last part, Florence Lily Martin. We were living in Seattle, in the 1880’s. I was born there, in that impatient little city, always growing too fast for many to keep up with it. How I loved that town, despite its many faults. I thought it was the best one around. I know now how awful it was, but back then I just accepted the thousands of rats slinking about, skittering in the walls; the worm-eaten pilings that everyone hated; and the stench, the perpetual stench coming from the tide-flats. There were still tide-flats in those days.

"We weren’t rich. I don’t think many were. So, we lived in the old, wooden heart of the town, in a stuffy garret room above our store. We had a large family: me; my younger (and twin) brother and sister (Maria and Carl); my father (James); and my sweet little mama (Imogene). But that does not concern anybody but me, so I shall not make you listen to me prattle on about old trifling things like that. We had some beautiful, grand buildings as Seattle grew. There was that big, ornate Opera House, the Colman building, that extended a full block, the Denny’s sawmill, and a great many old historical buildings. But Seattle had flaws; and one of these was a major flaw. It did not have a fire fighters brigade. After our school burned down, (That school was the pride of everyone in the town; you could read the clock on top of it all the way from the bay.) the city finally got it together, and bought a steam-powered fire engine, plus crew. That was the Engine Company Number One. Everything grew from that. Of course, they didn’t just go and build straight up, if you know what I mean. They had problems; like the time their second fire engine swamped in the bay. But they improved with time.

"I remember June 6, 1889. It was about 2:30; I was sent to do the usual Wednesday ‘look-for-food-cheap-enough-for-our-budget’ patrol. I dashed down the narrow wooden steps from our tiny apartment to my father’s hardware store below, and swung into the shop. It was our pride and joy. It had taken many, many years to make that shop what it was. It was almost our only source of income, besides what little my mama made working as a laundress. I laughed and, waving to the shopkeeper, swept out the door onto Cherry Street. The day was extraordinarily hot, and we had seen little rain for months. The sun glared down at the scurrying people below, but I did not care. I smoothed my gorgeous new dress (from my aunt on my fourteenth birthday) and continued down the street. A breeze blew off the harbor, and all around me was the buzz of talk and thump of footsteps on the wooden sidewalks. Oh, what a relief it was to get out of that stuffy attic of an apartment! I peered in all the windows, looking with rapture at the delectable foods at the greengrocer’s, but forced myself to buy the cheapest things. "Someday", I thought to myself as I counted out the money, "Someday I’m going to eat bonbons and cakes, and all the rest of those things until I explode!"

"I walked for a few more blocks, picking my way carefully around hot, stinking piles of horse manure in the streets, and had just passed the smith’s shop when, suddenly, I received a blast of scorching heat full on the side of my face. I stumbled backwards just as thick, black smoke began to billow out of some kind of carpentry building. Men came pouring out of the store, choking, as the wailing and clanging of the fire engine started in the distance. I had the sense to run to the other end of the street just before it came around the corner. Everyone was running around by now, and the air was dense with the awful smoke, but surprisingly, I could see no other sign of fire. The firemen had hooked up the hoses just as a roaring wall of flames leaped from the building. Men were coughing and gasping as they raced to and fro, trying to get as many goods as possible out of their stores. Still others were dousing the roofs of the houses across the way.

"The fire seemed to be under control, but without warning, a sheet of flames roared out of another building half a block down, the sparks cascading all around me. I screamed, and felt someone shove me to the ground. I landed on my hands and knees, and struggled across the street, the smoke stinging my eyes and filling my lungs. I looked back over my shoulder; the entire Denny block was a raging inferno. Tongues of fire were licking at the sky, and the buildings across the street were now burning as well. People were streaming out of buildings, some of them looking for neighbors, some who were the neighbors, and others just coming to watch. I took a quick look around. The fire company was having little effect on the flames. Their water supply had diminished to a mere trickle, and the fire was burning hotter and hotter. I ran back another block with everyone else, as the fire spread like rats in a pantry. Our beautiful Opera House now stood in the way of the flames. I cringed to watch it disappear under that terrible curtain of fire. The heat was so extreme that the hoses of the fire company were melting as they were put in place. They retreated hastily and then made cautious advances on the ocean of fire, but the heat drove them back again and again.

"It was about this time that I had my first pang of real worry. The fire had spread to the enormous Colman building, and flames began to lash out the windows and doors. The firemen obviously couldn’t keep it under control. What if it reached our store? I looked around me wildly. I was stuck in a crush of people craning their necks to watch the fire. There was no use now in trying to alert my family. By the time I got there, they would either be lying with the rubble of our building, or have been warned already. I bit my lip and stood where I was.

"The fire had reached the end of the block and was confronted with the first building on the block made of brick. The insides of the Rening Building began to smolder, and soon it was a white sea of fire as well. The fire then easily took the other wooden buildings between it and the Kenny Building. The flames leapt inside and quickly gutted it. An hour and a half had passed, and four blocks, everything between Madison and Columbia Street, was burning. The noise was not very loud now, the only sound being men shouting orders, the roaring of the fire and a few women crying. The San Francisco Store was next, and hope ran high that, since it was brick, it might resist the heat.

"The rumble of dynamite now added to the confusion. They were blowing up the Colman block! I gasped involuntarily. The half-demolished buildings still flamed. Wet blankets hung like flags of surrender from the windows of the San Francisco Store, but nothing seemed to do any good. It and The White Building were dynamited, but they still shot flames ten feet into the air. An entire six blocks were now a raging mass of flames.

"The fire had reached Cherry Street. I saw my family and the few other workers at the store moving everything they could out, until they were forced to retreat from the heat. The safe deposit building was next. All that we had, totaling about 150 dollars, was in that building. If it succumbed to the flames, we would be homeless and utterly destitute. It might make it. . ., it might. . ., but the infamous flames shot from the windows. I could stand still no longer. I wormed my way out of the crowd to my family, a few blocks away. My father was leaning against a wall, staring stonily at the ground. Mama was crying, and the twins were looking around big eyed, saying nothing. I turned away from the fire; I could not watch our home be devoured by flames. I did not even start when the 50 tons of ammunition cartridges and other flammable goods exploded like Fourth of July firecrackers. That was the end of my home. It was only about 5:30, but dark as night. There was a growling roar as loud as thunder as 300 tons of coal being stored on the waterfront exploded. Our silent little party drifted aimlessly down to the bay. Even the wharves were burning! One after another, the flaming piers fell with a crash and a hiss into the water.

"Suddenly, my father laughed. He had such a nice laugh that the rest of us were laughing too, even the twins, and most of the rest of the crowd, without even knowing why! What a relief it was to laugh! When we finally recovered, we went on saying things like, ‘well, that’s the end of those rats!’ and ‘now we finally got rid of those awful pilings.’ My father clapped us on the back saying, ‘well, there’s certainty no use in being here. Let’s see if we can get away from this smoke; I’m about to croak!’ And that was the end of it. We were going to be happy even if the world came crashing down around us!

 

"So that was that. By the time we got out of the smoke we were all hungry for dinner, but there was precious little food. The Lady’s Relief Society came to our aid, and struggled day in and day out to provide the city with food, clothing, blankets, and help in finding shelter for many. I remember sleeping on a mat in the kitchen of someone’s home for many a night. Finally, a boat came into the bay, loaded with general merchandise that people had ordered earlier. Many more boats and trains were to follow, with large cargoes of necessities for us. The greatest relief came from Tacoma. The day after the fire a train came, with several cars filled with food, tents, and blankets. They called themselves the ‘Tacoma Relief.’ They set over 400 cots in a tent that was alternately used for sleeping quarters for men, and a dining area. The next day, they set up a separate tent for woman and children. Food arrived almost hourly from Tacoma. The Tacoma Relief fed thousands of meals during the days they were here, and we are ever indebted to them. The Lady’s Relief Society served meals from eight a. m. to two p.m. Even the Army sent 150 four-man tents. How glad I was to sleep in a bed again! And how much the city received! In the period of two weeks, 95,000 dollars was sent from all over. They had to start sending it back! Only six days after the fire, the city started hiring men to clear rubble, clean and pile brick to use when rebuilding, and clear the ruins. Father worked on this team. I offered to, but they just tweaked my nose and sent me to work in the kitchen. The Relief Committee even gave away money. We were so grateful to receive money, when we had next to nothing. The Committee also created a lost and found, where we were reunited with some of our dearest possessions that had not been consumed by the fire. Slowly but surely, the number of needy dwindled, and finally disappeared. They started to rebuild.

"But what amazed my the most was not the money and help that other cities gave so freely. No, it was the atmosphere during this time. It was cheerful and hopeful, not groaning and despondent, as one would suppose. It was not, ‘oh no! Our city is destroyed, and we’re homeless and in despair!’ It was ‘Well, isn’t this funny? A blessing in disguise. Let’s show the world just how well we can get on our feet again.’ As a Seattle Times headline put it:

"SEATTLE DISFIGURED, but still in the ring, this is the song that Seattle will sing: New buildings, New hopes, New streets, New town there’s nothing that can throw Seattle down. She goes thru adversity, fire and flame, but the Queen City gets there just the same.’

"And so we did."

 

 

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What Emmeline Knew

The young girl’s hands clutched wildly at the shiny red railing of the ferry, clinging to the cold bars for dear life. Her knuckles, white from holding on, were slowly weakening. Her hands, sweaty and tense, were slipping. Her pleated skirt and linen top, plastered to her with sweat, felt heavy and tight, and her small round travel case dangled from her shoulder like a lead weight. She tried once more to cry out, but the sound stuck in her dry throat. Her freckled face, red from exertion, scrunched up in an expression of despair. She made one mighty attempt to pull herself back onto the deck, but it was to no avail. Tired as they were, her arms could cling no longer. She squeezed her eyes closed and plummeted, her red curls whipping in the breeze, into the dark green waters of Puget Sound.

 

c.e

It was a perfect day for sailing. Warm sun, brisk breeze, and calm waters. To Anita, it seemed that a person should be part of a day like that. Shine with the sun, sing with the breeze in the sails, and dance with the sparkling waves. Anita tiptoed to the prow of the boat and stood there, leaning into the wind. Her brown hair streamed behind her, and her unzipped windbreaker billowed like the sails. Her reverie was broken by the call of her uncle, "Anita! Lunch’s on. Cheeseburgers!"

Anita jumped at her uncle’s reminder. "Coming, Uncle Dave!" she cried. She dashed down the deck of the sailboat towards the salon. As she slid the door open, she was greeted by her aunt’s Springer Spaniel, Emmeline. Emmy danced up to Anita, wagging her stubby tail. Anita gave the dog a little pat and continued down the carpeted stairs to the galley. Her aunt was there, preparing potato salad on the small counter.

"Hi, Anita! A batch of burgers is already done. Here." Her aunt passed her a hot cheeseburger, dripping with melted cheese and pickle juice.

"Thanks, Aunt Marie," said Anita. "Can I go topside to eat lunch?" She loved to sit on the deck of the boat’s top level and lean against the rubber dinghy. From there, the whole Sound and its wooded shores were spread out below her in a panorama topped by the Olympic Mountains. It felt like standing on top of the world.

"Sure! Just come down before we turn towards port," her aunt replied, and returned to the task of chopping potatoes. Anita, cheeseburger in hand, raced up the stairs and climbed the ladder to the top level. There wasn’t very much topside—just a control station for the boat and a dinghy. Anita sat back against the warm black rubber of the dinghy and took a bite of cheeseburger. Mmm! The sun was warm, the food was good, and the view couldn’t be beat.

Anita stared at the far shore of Puget Sound. It was engulfed in a sea of pine trees, a dark green mass on the horizon. At the water’s edge, a few white specks were houses or condominiums. Looking higher, green hills rolled gently towards the horizon until the craggy, majestic Olympics met them. Above, the sun rode high and gulls wheeled their way across the dome of sky. Of course, Anita couldn’t forget the water beneath her. It had so many moods: choppy, like cracked glass, smooth, like a mirror, sparkly, like a polished diamond, and soft, like so many folds of dark blue velvet. And the air—it was crisp, brisk and tangy with the smell of salt.

Anita closed her eyes and tilted her head back. The sound of the water lapping against the boat lulled her, and she relaxed and thought about their destination. It was a tiny port town, barely more than a hotel and a souvenir shop. There was a small marina too, and it was always filled with different boats from catamarans to yachts. Anita’s favorite part of the visit was taking the dinghy out to the tiny rocky islands surrounding the port. Each rock-strewn knoll was covered by clams and seaweed at low tide, and above the tide level tight stands of dark cedar trees clung to the rocks. These little patches of land were perfect for exploring, and Anita loved to comb the small beaches for shells and crabs. Emmeline loved these little islands too, and the pair would play fetch together.

All these happy thoughts lulled Anita, and she fell asleep basking in the warm sun. She was wakened by her aunt’s cry, "Anita! Come down now! We’re turning towards the port!" Anita shook her head sleepily. She realized that she must have been asleep for an hour! Scurrying down the ladder, Anita finished off her now-cold cheeseburger. When she reached the salon, she poured herself a soda and sat down on one of the barstools. She looked out the window and saw the small cove of the town swinging into view. It hadn’t changed a bit since their last visit two years ago!

Soon, the boat lumbered into a space in the marina and was tied fast. Anita’s first business was to take Emmy for a walk, so Anita led the dog up the marina ramp to the town. There was a small man-made pond with a bridge across it, a resort-type hotel, a store selling postcards and snacks, a parking lot, and a restaurant. Emmy headed straight for the lake, and Anita let her take a little dip. Once she was cooled off, the Springer Spaniel ran up the hill and sniffed around the field.

As the dog ran, Anita took a look around. The sun was just moving down in the heavens, and it bathed the field in golden light. The air smelled unmistakably of salt, and the only sounds were music and voices in the distance. A bird skimmed through the air, and Emmy jumped off in pursuit of it. By the time Anita caught up with the runaway dog, she was thoroughly tired out. That little dog could really run! Dragging Emmy away from the field, Anita saw her aunt and uncle coming up the marina ramp.

"Sorry I took so long. Emmeline ran after a bird, and she wouldn’t come back," explained Anita.

"Hurry that dog back to the boat. We’re planning on dinner at that seafood restaurant," said her uncle. Anita herded Emmy down the ramp quickly and led her into the salon.

"You wait here, Emmy! Be a good doggie," said Anita as she closed up the door. She hurried up the ramp and across the footbridge to the restaurant, which perched on the hillside. She caught up with her aunt and uncle in the lobby. "Aunt Marie, what should I get here?" asked Anita.

Her aunt thought for a minute. "Their clam chowder is excellent," she determined.

"The salmon is the best!" her uncle broke in, "The Pacific Northwest breeds the best salmon in the world!" Anita thought about the possibilities unhappily. She hated seafood, so the pickings looked pretty slim. Fortunately, there was steak on the menu, so she didn’t go hungry. They finished their meal and started walking back to the marina. When they came closer to the boat, Anita could hear Emmy’s persistent barking. Running ahead, she thought she saw a girl standing on the pier. But when she rounded the bend, there was no one. Emmy, however, was scratching fiercely at the salon door.

Anita’s aunt came up and opened the door. "You silly puppy! Did mommy’s silly puppy go bark-bark? Hmm? Silly doggie!" crooned Aunt Marie. Anita looked at the pier, puzzled. She was certain she had seen someone. But she put it out of her mind and prepared for bed. After she had said goodnight to her aunt and uncle, she crawled into her bunk and fell asleep.

Emmy’s growling woke Anita at three o’ clock. The dog had opted to spend the night in Anita’s room, and now she was pawing at the door. Anita sleepily threw on a bathrobe and slippers and opened her door. Emmy sped for the salon door like greased lightening, barking all the way. "What’s the matter, Emmy? Nothing’s there!" said Anita. But out of the corner of her eye, Anita saw something move on the pier. The girl she had seen earlier! Anita let the dog out onto the deck and slipped over the rail herself. As she dropped onto the pier, she saw the girl move away.

"Don’t go! I won’t hurt you," said Anita.

The girl stopped. " I’m sorry I bothered you," she said in a polished formal voice, "but my cousin Eleanora Barquett has a dog just like yours. I was hoping to glimpse yours." Anita was startled to hear such a solemn voice. She noticed the girl was wearing strange clothes; over her red curls was a sailor’s beret, and she wore a sailor-style dress down to her knees, with brass buttons down the front and kick pleats in the skirt. She looked like something out of a turn-of-the century fashion magazine. But so what? Plenty of people wore unusual outfits.

"What’s your name?" asked Anita.

"Colleen. Colleen Elisabeth Roselle," replied the girl.

"Which boat are you staying on?"

"Well, not really any."

"Oh! You’re from the mainland."

"I suppose you could say that."

"How old are you? You look like you’re about my age."

"Well, it depends. I’m really 110 years old."

"What?" screeched Anita. Was this girl trying to play her for a fool, or—as something told her—was she telling the truth? There was only one way to find out. "How are you 110 years old if you look my age?" asked Anita.

"To explain, I must tell you my story."

 

c.e

"I was born in 1888. It was a fine year, and Seattle was a bustling town. I remember our home—it was a large house, blue and white with clapboard shutters, right in the downtown. Daddy was a businessman, and he worked for the bank. How fine he looked going off to work in his natty suit! I remember Mama so well, too. She was a beautiful lady with soft brown hair always piled on her head in a bouffant. She was always in the latest style, too. Her corset was always the tightest, her bustle the biggest, her skirt the frilliest. Dear Mama! I also had a little brother, Christopher Thomas. He was the sweetest little thing, just two years old with a wisp of blonde hair. And he had the bluest eyes! When I left, Mama was expecting another little one—that’s why she didn’t come with me.

You see, I was taking the new ferry to visit Aunt Hildegarde in Vancouver. I was thrilled to be riding by myself on such a powerful machine, and I had a brand-new round pink striped travel case for the trip. I couldn’t get enough of watching the water rush past. I was leaning over to look for fish when a gust of wind hit the boat. It knocked me over the rail, but I grabbed on. I called for help, but I had been on an empty side of the ferry. No one heard this girl, decked out in her new outfit, crying for help. I couldn’t hold on for long, and I slipped off the rail. On my way down, I hit my head on the side. Swimming I had never mastered either, so I simply sank into the deep waters.

When I woke again, I was amazed to be on a little rocky island at the entrance to this cove. Though I had lost my round travel case, I was in one piece. Nonetheless, I wasn’t, well, right. I signaled to boats passing through the harbor, but none of them noticed me. I saw people, but they were different. Their clothes were more modern, and the ladies were parading around in the most ridiculous bathing outfits. It was as though I had somehow missed years of the world. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong until I was looking through the shells. I saw a pretty pink shell, and when I reached down to pick it up I realized that I had seen it through my hand. I was translucent!"

 

c.e

Anita looked at Colleen, amazed. "B-but, that means, you can’t be, are you a g-g-ghost? You can’t be!" stammered Anita. Colleen looked back at her sadly and began to reply, but Emmy’s barking grew deafening. The little dog jumped over the rail and ran fiercely towards Colleen. "Down, Emmeline!" cried Anita, but it was no use. Emmy tried to bite Colleen, but suddenly, without so much as a whisper, Colleen was gone. The sad apparition who had told Anita her story had vanished without a trace. Emmy, puzzled, whimpered and curled up against Anita’s feet. Wondering if she was awake or dreaming, Anita herded Emmy inside and returned to her bed.

The next morning, Anita didn’t say a word about her experience the previous night. Emmy also seemed quiet; there were clearly no supernatural wonders bothering her. After she had eaten breakfast, Anita went for a walk on the beach with her aunt and uncle. Jellyfish, clear jelled blobs, were washed ashore on the rocky beach. On the beach ahead, something else was washed up. Emmeline started barking and rushed over to it. Anita followed, and gasped when she saw what it was. A round, pink-striped travel case lay on the rocks, "Colleen Roselle" scripted on its top.

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The Vanishing Girl

It was a gloomy day at the Pike Place Market. Gray clouds filled the sky over Seattle, Washington. "Oh, rain again." Susan McFarley said with a loud sigh. But all this didn’t stop her from buying her freshly grown flowers from a little shop at the Market. Susan was a usual customer of the Pike Place Market. She was a short and chubby lady in her early 50’s. Her face had many wrinkles, which she tried unsuccessfully to cover. Her eyes were small and close together, much like a mouse’s. Her nose was round and short like a button.

 

"Thank you" said Susan quietly, feeling very moved by the story. She purchased a large bouquet of Sunflowers, along with a small bouquet of flowers. She put the small bouquet of flowers on Alexandra Chow’s name square. She then continued on.

 

 

 

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The Bottomless Bell Tower

by Katy

 

I first heard this story when talking with some of my family friends who live on Lopez Island right across the road from the old community church. These are almost the exact words that my friends used to tell me this eerie tale.

After nearly three years of planning and two years of fundraising, the new community church on the outskirts of the Lopez Village was ready for construction. John Brown, the architect of this new coming attraction, could hardly wait for the day that the church would become fully operational. Being a very religious man, it had been Mr. Brown’s dream since his early twenties to build the most beautiful church in the San Juans. The sounds of birds flying overhead, trees swaying in the wind, and waves rushing towards the shore, would be the perfect conditions for worshipping God, he thought. Forty years later in 1898, his dream had finally become a reality. The villagers, on the other hand, were nervous about what was to transpire there. They knew that the ground on which the church was being built, was once a burial ground for the earliest native Lopezians. Stories of strange phenomenon occurring on this site were often shared amongst the townspeople. Mr. Brown was convinced, however, that this was indeed the perfect site.

 

Six months had passed since the beginning of construction on the new church. The stunning steeple had just been completed and the walls had been freshly painted white when John Brown came to inspect the work on October 6th. Mr. Brown inspected everything from the floorboards to the rafters. He was pleased with all of the work he had seen. The final place of inspection was the bell tower.

He ascended the long, dark stairway to the top of the tower. While looking down the expanse, people assume that Mr. Brown must have either been shoved or hit from behind. He fell, head first, straight down the long shaft. Everyone for miles heard his loud cry for help.

The construction workers immediately rushed down the stairs, opened the door to the bell tower, and looked down to find what they were certain would be his crumpled body at the bottom of the shaft. To the amazement of all that gathered, they found nothing, not a trace. It was as if John Brown had vanished out of thin air. Or did he? People say that the spirits of the people buried under the church years ago took him away, but no one will ever know. After this frightful incident, no one ever entered the building again. And it stands to this day, seemingly ready for its first congregation.

My friends say that every October the 6th, they can hear the bell ringing and that shrill cry for help coming from the bell tower. Coincidence? I think not.